


A Little Indulgence

by neverminetohold



Category: 91 Days (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode Related, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-07 07:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8789062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverminetohold/pseuds/neverminetohold
Summary: "Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure; men love in haste but they detest at leisure."  ~  Lord Byron





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mizuiro_no_Yume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizuiro_no_Yume/gifts).



Nearly drowned out by the rain the noise was distant but there: crumbs of earth hitting the polished surface of a coffin while the priest murmured a prayer. Women in black wept softly into their handkerchiefs while their husbands held them, faces solemn and devoid of emotion.  
  
"Go back to the car without me."  
  
It came out flat, but better an order than the plea he choked on. Nero waited until Avilio's footsteps had faded away and a car door slammed shut, nails digging into the bark of the oak, before he allowed his grief to overwhelm him.  
  
Droplets of water and hot tears soaked into his collar as he fell to his knees in the moist grass. He was not ashamed to mourn but feared being seen. As the son of Don Vanetti, he could not afford to show weakness, not even when suffering a stunning loss. Vanno had been his confidant, his friend and brother, at times closer to him than Frate.  
  
Nero allowed that hollow feeling to gnaw at him for a few minutes, then he staggered back up on his feet, worn and in need of a strong drink and company, but close to feeling like himself again.  
  
This too was part of the family business. It did not end with the high stakes politics that governed Lawless from the shadows while the police watched on, or the rivalry and cycle of revenge that bound them with the Orcos, or the balancing act of expanding their business and profits while protecting their turf and being lorded over by the Galassias.  
  
From time to time it also meant having one more grave to visit.  
  
xxx  
  
Trying to drown his sorrows had been a mistake. The moonshine was watered-down and left a sour aftertaste on his tongue and he lacked the patience to be charming enough that the few women present would have considered warming his bed for the night.  
  
A flapper hung on his arm regardless, one hand wrapped around a flute of champagne, her heart-shaped face framed by red curls that bounced with each of her air-headed giggles. She felt too soft pressed against his side, all fake underneath layers of perfume and makeup, too much powder and rouge and cherry-red lipstick.  
  
She droned on about meaningless things, fashion and jazz and a jealous spat with her best friend, her breath hot on his cheek as she leaned too close. Nero had stopped listening a while ago, felt his lips curl with faint disgust.  
  
He had come here to pretend that he had lost nothing, had no blood on his hands, wasn't on the run; a necessary sacrifice in the name of the family.  
  
"I've lost a friend tonight," Nero heard himself saying, inanely, voice flat and far away, not knowing what he expected her to say or hoped for.  
  
"Oh honey," she cooed, her smile faltering and face closing off. "I'm so sorry."  
  
Nero felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise and fished for his wallet before she could start to gush well-meant platitudes that would make a mockery of his grief. Vanno Clemente. Vanetti. Here in the sticks, both names meant nothing to anyone.  
  
He slapped three crinkling dollar bills onto the scarred tabletop, drained the last bitter dregs from his glass and left the church-turned-speakeasy without a backwards glance.  
  
xxx  
  
Wandering down the empty street towards the dingy motel, past shops closed for the night and parked automobiles, Nero had to think of Avilio. Those dead eyes belonged to an empty shell, a human being reduced to going through the motions.  
  
In the darkness between flickering lamp posts Avilio seemed promising to seek out, like a kindred spirit.  
  
xxx  
  
"What?"  
  
Avilio met his stare head-on, apparently unconcerned with being crowded against the gaudy wallpaper, their difference in height and bulk. His nose wrinkled up, smelling the sour alcohol on Nero's breath, no doubt.  
  
Nero had no patience left for his usual playful teasing, well-worn pick-up lines and reckless flirting. "I want to fuck you," he blurted out bluntly.  
  
"Is that what Vanno and you did?" Avilio asked. There was no disgust there, no judgment, just that cold calculation with anger simmering underneath.  
  
Nero winced, the words twisting like knives in an old wound, and almost pulled back. Vanno had known and kept silent about it but never understood. And there Avilio was, all sharp edges and hard lines, perfect to cut himself open upon, to taste salt and copper, flush out misplaced guilt, but now it seemed a terrible idea. - There was nothing like intimacy to make yourself vulnerable.  
  
Nero swallowed thickly, suppressed his instinctive flinch. "No."  
  
"But I'm not him."  
  
Avilio leaned closer, head tilting back, an obvious offer. Their lips met with too much force, meshed together to the point of pain, teeth clicking. Nero bit down and licked at the shallow marks, felt the shiver that moved along Avilio's spine.  
  
Their clothes lay soon scattered on the carpet, fumbled off with clumsy fingers and scratching nails, buttons fought and conquered under breathless laughs and growls; left a trail towards the bed in dots of white and brown and black.  
  
Stretched out beneath him, Avilio was nothing short of handsome, despite that sullen look and ever present frown, with his lithe athlete's build and long, graceful fingers. His skin was pale as porcelain against the dark sheets and just as cool to the touch, though it heated up with each caress. And then those eyes, that changed color with the lighting, from murky ocher to cat's yellow to gleaming gold.  
  
Nero gasped, found himself manhandled closer and speechless for long minutes while Avilio's mouth worked him until he came with a violent lurch. White spots danced in front of his eyes, faded away only as his pulse slowed to a more reasonable pace.  
  
He cleared his throat, still feeling cross-eyed and off balance. It had been a long time. "So this is what a pickpocket down on his luck does, huh?"  
  
Avilio's tongue darted out from swollen lips to catch one last milky droplet with a thoughtful hum. "Anything to survive."  
  
Nero had been prepared for business-like fucking, a quick bid for release to deal with his frustration and anger and that feeling of being a helpless bystander that reminded him of his first job, his utter failure to live up to his father's expectations. Weird, that that one murder would haunt him like none of the many others that had followed after.  
  
"Hm." Nero braced himself, rocked his hips gently with the motion of firm hands and clever fingers that pulled and stroked his cock back to hardness. "I know the feeling."  
  
"I thought you might," Avilio said and started to move.  
  
"No," Nero muttered, and pulled him back around by his shoulder, placed a kiss on it. "I want to see your face."  
  
There it was, what had caught his attention again and again, that curious expression, as if Avilio were surprised and taken off guard by the pleasure. As if he had braced himself for pain. It felt like a challenge. So Nero pushed harder, groaning. Muscles strained and contracted, made him hiss through his teeth, and finally they gave way in a smooth hot glide. Avilio's toes curled and his spine arched, hips lifting from the mattress with a moan and the soft squeak of bed springs.  
  
"More?"  
  
Avilio met his gaze, expression once again unreadable, then reached out and held on, blunt nails digging into the skin of Nero's shoulders. "All of it."  
  
xxx  
  
Because of his incessant nagging - according to Avilio who seemed above such human failings as a growling stomach - they stopped the next morning for breakfast at a place called Jinny's Diner.  
  
...then again, considering his particular skill set and overall disposition, Nero suspected that Avilio simply knew the pain of going hungry. The thought was sobering, and he frowned into the depths of his coffee, at the lighter swirl of cream that unfurled in the middle of his mug.  
  
"Here you go."  
  
The waitress set their plates before them with the soft clatter of porcelain on wood: two stacks of golden brown buttermilk pancakes with a glossy sheen of melted butter, and a little jug full of maple syrup to go with them.  
  
"Thank you," Nero said, treating her to a polite smile.  
  
Avilio, predictably, ignored her. He reached past Nero for the silver jug which he promptly emptied of its content in a slow-flowing stream. Too much syrup for the fluffy dough to soak up, his whole plate turned into a sticky, sweet-smelling mess.  
  
Nero felt his nose wrinkle in disgust, even more so when Avilio stuffed his cheeks with one whole, dripping pancake. "Hey! You're gonna get 'em all soggy..."  
  
He trailed off, watched the way that severe expression of his softened, how Avilio's eyes crinkled at the corners and half closed in sugar-induced bliss. Nero grinned at him, fond and indulgent and not at all avuncular; stupidly happy to have gotten a glimpse beneath that sullen mask.  
  
"What are you, a doting paramour?"  
  
Nero laughed at his acerbic tone. "Who knows?" He shrugged and took a sip of his coffee, enjoying the rich flavor, the warmth of the sunlight that shone through the windows. Last night had certainly improved his mood. "I just might be."  
  
Avilio rolled his eyes at him and continued eating, but Nero was sure he had spotted a come and gone smile. Surely it wasn't a slip-up, not coming from a man who waded into the thick of a brawl or shoot-out with the detachment and strategic thinking of a chess master at play. A concession, then.  
  
The Vanetti's could always use a man like Avilio. As for Nero himself... well, time would tell, but he liked the idea: grooming Avilio to be his right-hand man during the day while drawing him out of his shell at night...  
  
Nero took a bite, chewing slowly and thinking it over. No use making premature plans. But now more than ever was he resolved to enjoy this little road trip. - Because if Nero knew one thing for a fact it was that no one ever turned their back on the family business without a bullet being involved.  
  
These carefree moments wouldn't last - best to make the most of them while he still could.


End file.
